You and I, Not Yet Understood
by LionsandDragons
Summary: Stiles' only goal in life is to be the best fucking cancer research doctor in the world, so that he can find a cure. But, his life takes a bizarre turn when he saves a handsome stranger one night from a would-be arrow wound. Except, there is no arrow wound... and the stranger doesn't seem at all grateful.


**You and I, Not Yet Understood**

"_The supernatural is the natural not yet understood" ~Elbert Hubbard _

Stiles could never really decide if losing his mom to cancer at the age of thirteen was better or worse than, say, the age of three. At thirteen he had gotten more good years with her than some other unfortunate kids did with their parents. He had been old enough to remember how sweet her perfume smelled, how warm her hugs were, the way she packed his lunch for school with extra Oreos, and how bright her laughter was when Stiles did something funny.

Then again, if Stiles had been three he wouldn't have known what it meant when she got tired, when she lost her hair, when she winced as she shifted on the couch. If Stiles had been three instead of thirteen he could have lost his mother without ever truly understanding the painful reality of cancer. Cancer could have been the dark angel that took his mother away; the ugly thing that people would have explained to him years later, as if being older made something like that more understandable.

Instead, cancer was the living, breathing monster that made his mother wilt away right before his very eyes, while Stiles watched and despaired. He could even remember the exact day she got too weak to even squeeze his hand back. Stiles had decided right then and there that if cancer was something he could see, then it was something he could fight. He decided that he would do whatever it took to try and prevent anyone, three or thirteen, from having to go through what he and his dad and his mom had gone through.

So Stiles made perfect grades in high school, joined a few teams and clubs, and polished his college applications to a brilliant sparkle. He got into Stanford pre-med, then he got into their medical school, then he landed a prime residency spot in San Diego on a prestigious hospital's oncology ward. He made it into the research field and he devoted himself to cancer research. He became the youngest person to single-handedly develop a ground-breaking cancer research drug for pain management that also helped the body in restoring the immune system.

None of it was enough. He wanted perfection. He wanted a cure. Stiles lived in his laboratory. He breathed his research and he ate it for breakfast. His Dad called every week at the same time and they had the same conversation. Most of his friends worked at the hospital that housed his lab and they were the only ones who refused to let him sink down too far into the spiral of madness.

Scott, an ER doctor, drug Stiles to ballgames on the weekend. Lydia, a neonatal nurse brought over movies and popcorn on Sunday nights. She also brought Stiles groceries a lot, like he wasn't capable of feeding himself. He just really hated cooking for one was all?! They all appreciated his humor and his inability to be quiet, especially if he was talking about his work. Even better they understood that sometimes Stiles just needed to be left alone with his research.

Logically, most of the time, Stiles understood that curing cancer was a big undertaking, an undertaking that had been an ongoing project, for a lot of scientists, for decades now. But, Stiles needed to believe that every experiment, every possible new drug, every test in the right direction, and every new sliver of gained understanding could only help.

He tried to live his life as best he could. He tried to have fun and, to his EMT friend Danny's endless amusement, go out on a couple of dates with cute guys. But most of the time they got tired of his talking, or his obsession with work, or his secondary obsession with comic books. They eventually figured out that Stiles spent more time in his lab, on his work, than he did outside of it and they all eventually left. Stiles decided that being alone at twenty-nine wasn't so bad. Maybe he'd be able to cure cancer by thirty.

After a particularly dismal day in the lab Stiles did the unexpected and called it an early night. He shut down the lab, dropped by the maternity ward to chat with Lydia about their Lord of the Rings marathon movie night on Saturday, and then began the short walk from the hospital back to his apartment.

Stiles pulled his jacket up around his neck as the wind blew. San Diego had been unseasonably cool heading into October. Stiles was glad he had thought to bring his jacket to work this morning because his threadbare Avengers t-shirt he had chosen to wear under his lab-coat today would have done nothing against the chill.

Stiles was passing across the mouth of the alleyway beside his apartment building, thinking about the immortality of elves of all things, when he heard a whooshing noise and a grunt. He looked into the alley, the glow of the street lamps casting an eerie orange light into it, and saw a man on his knees on the ground and another figure running the opposite direction out of the ally.

Stiles thought this an extremely odd picture until he tore his gaze back to the man on the ground. He was looking at Stiles with an odd mix of pain and confusion, like he couldn't understand what Stiles was doing there. Stiles thought he saw the man's eyes flash red, but he quickly decided it was a trick of the light. He was about to continue the last leg of his walk home, when the man finally fell forward.

Stiles gasped and started sprinting forward the minute his brain finally realized what he was looking at. A lethal black arrow was protruding from the man's back. Stiles had just witnessed a man being shot in an ally with an arrow. Who shoots someone with an arrow?!

Only his expert medical skills managed to keep him calm and focused as he sunk to the ground next to the guy. Stiles placed his hands lightly on the man's back and said, "please don't move, I'm a doctor and I'm going to get you some help."

Stiles could feel the strangers shallow breathes from where his hands rested lightly on the guys back. Stiles could now see that the guy's eyes were still open and that meant he could hear Stiles.

Stiles tried to make his voice soothing, "I'm going to call an ambulance, ok? Please just try to breathe and don't move."

Before Stiles could reach for his phone the guy moved up to his knees again quickly. His body size and frame matched Stiles' own closely but Stiles felt small in comparison to this guy's presence filling up the alleyway. Stiles jumped when a hand suddenly gripped his wrist. He looked down at his wrist and back to the guy with the arrow sticking out of his back.

The guy finally found his voice, pitched low from the stress of pain, "do _not_ call an ambulance, I'm fine."

Stiles could easily find issues with the statement, "um, don't freak out, but you have an arrow sticking out of your back, ok? I'm a medical doctor and that is _not_ fine."

The guy shook his head, "lucky me that I managed to get shot in front of a doctor…"

Stiles looked in the direction that he saw the shooter running, "yeah, about that…"

The guy gripped Stiles wrist tighter, "he's gone and he's not coming back, ok? Now, I need you to pull this arrow out of my back."

Stiles tried to pull his hand away but the guy had a firm grip, "what?! No! I'm not yanking that thing out of your back! It needs to be inspected and possibly surgically removed to prevent further tissue and nerve damage!"

Stiles waved his free hand around for emphasis. The guy looked unimpressed. This close up, Stiles could tell that the dude's eyes were a blue-green color and not red. Those not-red eyes were staring Stiles down hardcore right now and seriously, what was happening?

"Trust me when I say that the nerve and tissue damage isn't going to get worse, ok?" The guy's voice sounded strained, like he was holding on to consciousness.

Stiles tried again, "I'm going to call an ambulance, just let go of my hand."

The guy just squeezed Stiles' hand until he was sure the bones rubbed together, he winced and the guy repeated his statement, "Pull the fucking arrow out."

Stiles swallowed around the bundle of nerves in his throat. He was obviously dealing with a crazy person. If he didn't remove the arrow then they would stay at an impasse in this ally forever and no one would be ok. If he yanked the arrow out there was a good chance the guy would pass out and maybe Stiles would have a chance to get an ambulance here to help the maniac before he bled out in the street.

Stiles took a deep breath and nodded his head, "ok, I'm going to pull it out. Hold still. Try not to break my wrist."

The guy nodded and hung his head between his shoulders. He still had a death grip on Stiles wrist and one supporting his weight on the ground. Stiles spread his knees to put more power behind the pull. He placed his hand on the arrow, squeezed to test his grip, and then took a deep breath before he jerked his hand upward.

Stiles heard the skin tearing around the arrow. He heard the squelching of the blood and muscle. It was disgusting, but he had seen and done a lot worse. To his credit, the guy kneeling on the ground didn't break Stiles wrist or cry out. Stiles heard a gasp and what sounded suspiciously like a low growl.

Stiles threw the arrow away behind a dumpster and immediately attempted to shove the guy's jacket and shirt up to see how bad and deep the wound was. Stiles saw a nasty bruise and no wound. It was gone. He knew that the arrow had to have left something that should have needed immediate and intense medical attention. But, Stiles didn't even see a scratch. The guy stood up and rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly before he straightened his clothes and turned to face Stiles.

Stiles could only stand up and gawk as the guy tried for a small smile that Stiles thought felt just as unnatural as it looked, "thanks."

Stiles just raised an eyebrow, "thanks?"

The guy shrugged, "yeah, thanks."

Stiles threw his hands in the air, "Oh my god! No! I just pulled an arrow out of your back! A back that, I might add, is remarkably healed now, not two seconds later!"

The guy shrugged again, "I can't really explain that, so I'm not going to try. I think you just need to forget what you saw here."

Stiles laughed, his voice strained, "forget what?! I don't even know what I saw! I'm a doctor and I have absolutely no explanation for what just happened! And who in the hell shoots someone in an ally way like a freaking animal?!"

The guy's mouth quirked up at that, so something Stiles said must have been amusing to him. Stiles couldn't figure out what though. Now that Stiles had a really good view of the guy, and no one's life was in danger, he could clearly see how hot the guy was. Who would want to shoot someone that good looking?

The guy barked out a laugh and shook his head, "um, thanks, I guess?"

Stiles found himself at a loss for words again when he realized that he must have said at least a part of that last thought out loud. Please just let lightning strike him now. This was why he buried himself in his lab. He hadn't ever been good at talking to good looking people. It had taken him three months to even look Lydia in the eyes. But, hey, they were friends now.

Stiles smiled sheepishly and tried to sound professional again, "Look, regardless of what I did or did not see, you should go to a hospital."

The guy shook his head, his expression grim once more, "I don't do hospitals and I'm wasting time here. I need to leave the area before that hunt… guy who shot me does decide to come back."

Stiles thought of something, "You need to call the police!"

The guy turned to walk away out of the mouth of the ally and around the corner. He called over his shoulder, "the police can't help me."

Stiles moved forward to follow the guy down the block if he had too. The police _could_ be helpful; Stiles' dad was a sheriff for fuck's sake. Stiles had the statement on the tip of his tongue, but when he rounded the corner of the ally the guy was gone. Stiles looked both ways to be sure, but there wasn't a trace of Mr. Tall-Dark-Brooding-Asshole.

Stiles shook his head and decided that his Hippocratic Oath could only apply to those people who needed, wanted, or asked for help. Not psychos being shot in allies for likely nefarious reasons. Stiles wanted to just crawl into bed and die of exhaustion.

In the morning Stiles went back to the ally to see if he could convince himself one way or another that last night had actually happened. He didn't see a trace of blood on the ground or a scrap of fabric or a wallet. It wasn't until he searched behind the dumpster that he was rewarded for his efforts. His hand gripped the arrow and he held it up triumphantly in the daylight. Stiles noticed the dried blood that clung to the tip of the slender weapon. He wasn't sure what made him take it to work with him. But, he decided that he'd like to take a look at that blood underneath his microscope.

It was midnight and Stiles was still staring at the tiny pink smear of blood under his microscope. He had finally decided that his eyes weren't broken and his brain wasn't crazy. He had then methodically stored away every bit of scientific and medical knowledge he knew and then examined what he had left.

The blood was abnormal. It had a very high platelet count, like extraordinary. The blood also had unparalleled cell regeneration ability. Stiles had introduced the common cold and the flu virus to small blood samples and the cells had, well, eaten the infected cells and then regenerated quickly enough that Stiles' had been able to watch it happen right before his very eyes. He had then tried splitting the cells, but they again regenerated themselves by knitting back together. The cells in the blood were virtually indestructible.

Stiles hadn't yet allowed himself the possibility that he was dealing with something beyond explanation, beyond modern medical science. He wanted to be absolutely sure that what he had discovered was unique and here-to-fore unfathomable. With baited breath he introduced glial cells, a common cause of a specific type of brain tumor, and watched as the cells in the blood destroyed the cancerous cells. The cancerous cells were eradicated more effectively than Stiles had ever witnessed any kind of medicine or radiation or chemo do. He sat down at his desk and tried to focus on not having a panic attack.

This was amazing. It was beyond anything Stiles had ever discovered. That guy from the ally had been some sort of super human healing machine. Stiles allowed himself to have the thought; he could have been some supernatural creature. Whatever he was, his blood could be the key to understanding how to fight and cure cancer.

Stiles thought about all those possibilities and then he allowed himself to come to the crushing realization that he would never see that man again. He had no name, no address, and no idea who the guy was or where he came from. There was not enough blood on the arrow to even begin full-blown research. Stiles wanted to cry.

He cleaned up, locked up, trudged home, ate an entire bag of chocolate-chip cookies and then went to bed.

The next night he stayed late at work again. He was in the final stages of non-human trials on a new chemo drug he was developing along with an entire team of scientists in London. He needed to finish typing up his results so that they could apply for clinical trials.

Around midnight he trudged down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and a sandwich.

When he got back to his lab a lone figure was leaned up against his desk, looking both relaxed and somehow terrifyingly displeased. Stiles looked from tight, black jeans, to a tight, black shirt, and a leather jacket. He gripped his coffee tighter and tried to stop the thundering of his heart.

The guy spoke up; his voice gruffer and more melodic than Stiles remembered it. Stiles could tell by glancing at his desk that the guy had rifled through his stuff and it angered him.

"That's right," the guy smiled dangerously, "get angry. I can hear your heart beat pounding in your chest. You're like a nervous little rabbit."

Stiles scowled, "rabbits are only nervous around wolves."

The guy laughed again, it was less strained than it had been in the alleyway and even more amused. He stopped abruptly and stood, moving around the lab towards Stiles, "still, I can practically taste your nervousness."

"Is that some trait that comes with your abnormal healing abilities?"

The guy opened his mouth but Stiles continued, he pushed past the guy to go stand behind his desk, "or, how about, you tell me how you are immune to disease and cancer?" He felt safer behind his desk despite the guy now being between him and the door.

The guy smiled and crossed his arms, choosing to lean against one of Stiles work tables, "and you're a smart oncology research doctor."

Stiles shrugged, "and you can read. That doesn't answer my questions."

The guy sighed and gave a wry smile, "here's the thing about your questions. They will get you in trouble. They will bring nothing but problems to your door. The people who don't believe you, of which there will be many, will laugh you right out of your job and your license. The people that do believe you…" the guy's voice took on a dangerous tone, "well, you don't want those people to find you."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, "are you threatening me?"

The stranger stared him down, he now appeared angry, "no, I'm not. You saved my life. I owe you. But, the things you've no doubt discovered from looking at my blood won't just hurt me if you start telling people. Do you understand? I'm trying to help you."

Stiles looked away, towards his sample fridge with the last remaining speck of blood from the arrow lay mushed between two slides, "how did you find me?"

Stiles noticed that the guy was standing still out of the corner of his eye, he obviously believed in economy of motion, and words, "I went back for the arrow. It was gone. I sniffed you out."

Stiles snapped his head back around to look at the guy, "why do I get the feeling you mean that literally?"

Stiles made a concerted effort not to back up as the guy approached his desk and leaned across it until his nose was inches away from Stiles' own, "because you've already figured out that I'm not human."

Stiles jumped as the guy's eyes flashed a deep crimson red before he blinked and they were back to that odd greenish color. He had to give himself credit for how remarkably calm he was being about the entire situation. Despite every logical cell in his brain screaming at him that this guy was dangerous, his instincts told him that Stiles wasn't in danger.

A small part of Stiles mind, the scientist inside, was busy cataloguing the guy's every movement, every abnormal manifestation, and every confessed ability. When he wasn't buried neck deep in research and cancer articles, Stiles read comic books. If he could suspend belief that this guy was some supernatural being, then he could at least take a stupid shot at what exactly he was.

Stiles took a deep breath, "you are a werewolf."

The guy gave him a small smile and Stiles could just make out the flash of fangs before they were gone, "I am an alpha werewolf."

Stiles nodded, "I'm going to assume that means you're important."

The guy nodded back, "exactly, now, Stiles, what are you going to do about it?"

Stiles swallowed. What was he going to do about it?!

"You said that you owed me for saving your life…"

The guy cut across his words sharply, "I will not turn you until you have thought more about the…"

Stiles shook his head quickly, "No! I mean, no, I don't want you to turn… can you do that? Well, I guess if you bite me. Is that how it spreads? I don't want to rely on stupid legends. Can werewolves be born too?"

The guy raised an eyebrow and remained silent as Stiles thought out loud, "so, not the point. You owe me a life debt. Which means next to nothing in my world, but in your world may hold more meaning."

Stiles held up his hands when it looked like the guy might speak, "hear me out, ok? I will not tell anyone about you or what I know. I will destroy all records that have been made of your blood and what I found in it. I will not write down, record, or type up any further records. However, I know that if I can study you, your blood, I may be able to find things that can help me cure cancer in human patients. I never planned for something like this in my research, I mean, how could I? You're extraordinary. Werewolves, who'd have thought?"

The guy seemed like he very much wanted Stiles to get to a point so he hurried on, "just come see me once a week, at night, in my lab and let me take a vial of blood. Just do that and answer a few of my questions, that's all I ask."

The guy stood up and crossed his arms again, "and what if this non-existent research that you aren't conducting does lead to something? How will you explain it without talking about what you know?"

Stiles thought for a minute, "I'm hoping that any findings I make will lead to ways to synthetically engineer what happens in your body, in your cells, when you are injured or infected with something. If I can do that, then I can say that I dreamed up the blueprint. No one will have to know that I got it studying werewolf blood."

The guy shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it on Stiles' desk, "you're remarkably accepting."

Stiles shrugged, "I've learned that even as a doctor, some things defy scientific understanding."

The guy sat down on the stool at Stiles work table, "how long will I have to show up for?"

Stiles didn't want to be too demanding, but he also wanted to get as much from this guy as possible, "two months, eight visits."

The guy held out his arm and Stiles almost fell over trying to get to his kit. He placed it on the table and got to work banding the guy's fit looking bicep and prepping the vein and the needle.

Stiles got the needle ready and then looked up into the guy's face, "you don't, like, faint or some shit like that?"

He looked at Stiles funny, "you ripped an arrow out of my back."

Stiles shrugged, "good point."

He slid the needle in and then managed to get two vials before he removed the needle. He watched, fascinated, as the tiny pin prick where the needle had been disappeared and the skin was smooth and flawless once again.

Stiles watched as the guy threw his jacket back on and made for the door. Before he left he turned around, "who did you lose?"

Stiles froze, though not in confusion. He knew exactly what he was being asked. Most people who were as astute and blunt about the topic had also lost someone and Stiles wondered again at his lab werewolf's story.

Stiles looked the guy right in his too handsome face, "my mom. I was thirteen and she got thyroid cancer."

The guy nodded and turned to leave, but Stiles had a question on his own, "what's your name?"

The guy's face did a complicated range of expressions that Stiles couldn't unravel before he replied almost kindly, which would be a first for him, "Derek."

With that he strode out of the lab and Stiles was left feeling complicatedly excited about next week.

The second time Derek showed up in the lab was exactly a week later at midnight. Just as promised he let Stiles take more blood and he answered all of Stiles questions about his medical history, or lack thereof. He patiently explained to Stiles the various things he knew about werewolf biology, and he informed Stiles that he was a born werewolf.

Stiles couldn't muster up the courage to ask him to shift into wolf form. He had no idea what exactly that entailed, and it rather seemed a lot like asking someone to take their clothes off for you. He kept a tight lid on his curiosity and tried very hard not to continuously notice how ridiculously hot Derek was.

He failed.

"You're attracted to me."

Stiles almost dropped the vials of blood he was trying to gently place in a holder towards the back of his sample fridge.

He managed to not squeak too badly when he said, "What?"

Derek smiled ruefully, "I can smell it."

Stiles blinked stupidly and shut the refrigerator door before he replied, "well, that's unfortunate."

Derek had his normal expression of bored teetering on violent, but his tone was light, "you're very different."

Stiles bit his lip and replied slowly, "uh, thank you?"

Derek shrugged his jacket back on and turned to leave, "don't be embarrassed ok, I just brought it up because you should know that it's never going to happen."

Stiles sat down at his desk mumbling, "well, you sure know how to let'em down easy."

He jumped when Derek appeared in front of him from halfway across the room in a second, "Jesus, don't do that!"

Derek's eyes were flashing red and his tone was intense when he spoke, "I'm not letting you down. I'm letting you know that when people get close to me, unfortunate things happen to them and I have no interest in having your blood on my hands. Humans who run with wolves get hurt, or worse."

Stiles sunk back in his chair and tried to calm his heart rate down, "duly noted."

Derek left just as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

It was a testament to Stiles' stupidity that he wondered less about getting hurt because of his new entanglement with a werewolf, and more about if Derek's comment had meant that he _did_ like Stiles and was staying away because of the whole danger thing.

On the third week Stiles talked Derek into an adjacent exam room so that he could give him a full examination. Stiles remained professional and brisk and very pointedly ignored Derek's very nearly-naked self. He also ignored the fact that Derek could easily smell how very badly a job Stiles was doing at ignoring it.

Stiles' medical curiosity allowed him to leave his embarrassment behind for a time though as he prodded and poked Derek. Stiles was fascinated. Derek's heart beat was faster than a human's, his blood pressure higher, his body temperature ran warmer. Stiles deduced that he had quicker reflexes, heighted senses, and more evolved eyes. His pupils could expand and contract more quickly and effectively than a human's, giving him perfect night vision.

Stiles determined that Derek's major organs, bones, and muscles were all accounted for and in the proper place, so his physiology wasn't different. Which was interesting in and of itself. Stiles still would have liked to see the shift, or at least Derek in his wolf form, but that wouldn't expressly help his research and he couldn't bring himself to ask.

When they got back in the lab, and Stiles took the usual blood sample, he did get brave enough to ask Derek more about his life, "so, what does an alpha do?"

Derek tugged his leather jacket back on, "we command the pack. I was born into a pack, my entire family was in it, and my mom was the alpha."

Derek's face didn't change one bit when he finished with, "they're all dead now, a fire, some hunters, long story."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, thought of a million things he could say and then simply said, "so, you've created your own pack now?"

Derek nodded, "it's not very big, just a few wolves I turned, all of them are a few years younger than me. They're easier to mold that way."

Stiles nodded, "So, um, do you have a job?"

Derek looked to be in his early thirties; to be sure he had a life outside of being an alpha? Stiles figured that werewolves had to blend into society somehow. After all, they were mostly human.

Derek sort of grunted, "I work construction. It's good money these days. It leaves my nights free. Plus, I have family money."

Stiles nodded, "makes sense."

Derek tuned to go, he looked back when he got to the doorway and his voice was perfectly neutral, "I can still smell it."

Stiles refused to be embarrassed; he didn't even look up from his microscope, "what can I say? I like a challenge… cure cancer, be attracted to dangerous supernatural creatures, you know, all in a day's work."

He was rewarded by Derek's deep laugh echoing down the hallway.

Stiles had been trying for thirty minutes to get Lydia out of his lab. He did not want her there when Derek arrived for so, so many reasons. She was working night shift for the first time in a month, which was just fucking perfect, and had decided to take her break in Stiles lab.

She pursed her lips as he glanced towards the doorway again, "what is with you? I'm trying to keep you company and you can't be bothered to even look at me when I talk."

Stiles sighed and glanced back into Lydia's honey brown eyes, "I'm sorry. Look, I just have a lot on my mind and I'm distracted. Thanks for coming to see me though."

Lydia stood up and kissed him on the cheek, her sticky lip gloss that she had just reapplied clinging to Stiles' skin.

He was about to laugh, rub it off, when he heard a low growl from the doorway. He spun around to see Derek standing there, scowling, arms crossed, body tense.

Lydia looked from Derek to him and back again before smiling coyly and backing away from Stiles, "well, I have to get back to my shift and text Jackson real quick to tell him we're still on for this weekend. I'll just leave you with your new…"

Stiles glared at Lydia, and at Derek, he hated them both, "patient. Derek is one of my new clinical trial patients," Stiles looked pointedly at Lydia who just smiled bigger.

"Yes, right, patient. Well, then, see you later." She flipped her red curls and slipped past Derek out of the lab.

Stiles threw his hands in the air, "what the hell was that?!"

Derek looked shocked, or at least his own subdued version of shocked, "it was nothing."

Stiles scoffed, "it didn't sound like nothing. It sounded like you growled at Lydia for kissing me on the cheek. Lydia, who is my friend and who, I might add, has a boyfriend!"

Derek shrugged, "it's a wolf thing okay?"

"Well, why don't you explain it to me."

Derek moved to walk towards the stool he normally occupied and he slipped his jacket off, "I told you that I don't get close to people."

Stiles got his lab kit out, "because…"

Derek was silent for a long moment before he spoke; Stiles noticed that Derek was getting better at answering Stiles in whole sentences instead of in stilted words, "_Pack_ has a few different meanings to a werewolf. There is immediate pack, those who are wolves or humans under the protection and command of an alpha. But, there can also be people you associate with who aren't necessarily pack members, but who the wolf inside has come to view as more than a stranger. For example, my family was a pack, but my high school friends were like my pack away from home. They didn't even know I was a werewolf, but the human in me considered them friends so my wolf considered them pack. It wanted to protect them."

Stiles tied the rubber band around Derek's bicep and rubbed his thumb absently over the blue vein in his arm, "so, what you're saying is that your wolf now sees me as more than a stranger?"

Derek looked away from Stiles, refusing to meet his eyes, "yes."

Stiles slid the needle expertly into Derek's arm and chewed the inside of his lip, "I don't think that's the whole story."

Derek gave Stiles one of his patented death glares, but Stiles considered himself immune at this point, "it is the truth."

"I'm not saying it isn't the truth, I'm saying it's not the whole truth," Stiles twisted the IV line and quickly filled two vials before removing the needle and watching Derek's skin heal instantly. It was still amazing to watch.

Derek shrugged his jacket back on, "and what do you think is the whole truth?"

Stiles put the vials away and wondered over to his desk to rifle for an article he was reading on rapid cell regeneration, he had scribbled a question on it he had wanted to ask Derek and now he couldn't remember what it was, "I think that the wolf was less worried Lydia was going to hurt me and more concerned with her lips pressed to my face."

Stiles spared a glance at Derek, who was scowling, "I mean, _you_ may not like me that much… but, maybe your wolf just can't control…"

Stiles gasped as his body was suddenly slammed over and down onto his desk. His hips and thighs pressed into the edge and his chest pressed to the papers scattered on top. Derek was draped over him like a hot and heavy sack of muscular flour, and Stiles was having a hard time comprehending how he got here.

He opened his mouth to say something close to that, but Derek's voice rumbled in his ear, "do not speak."

He sounded like he was fighting for control and Stiles allowed himself to be afraid. It was either afraid or very, very turned on, and he couldn't possibly be turned on right now, so he was going with afraid.

He could feel Derek's nose pressing into the back of his neck and inhaling before letting out a soft growl. Stiles whimpered a little and was only a little less than absolutely mortified when his hips shifted back to press into Derek's.

Derek's hands moved to cover Stiles' own where they were pressed against the surface of the desk; his voice still wrecked sounding, "do not move."

Stiles nodded and took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself.

Derek's voice broke through the silence, "you do not understand how hard I have to fight all my instincts around you. I don't know why I'm so attracted to you. I don't know _why_ you smell so good. I only know that every second of every day since you pulled that arrow out of my back, I want to drag you onto the nearest horizontal surface and lick every inch of your body."

Stiles choked on air, "oh fuck."

Derek sniffed him again and continued, "But I'm fighting my instincts because I know logically that to entangle you even further in my world could put you on the radar of some dangerous people if those people ever found me."

Stiles struggled to listen to Derek's words through the overwhelming sensation of their bodies pressed so intimately together, "and, if there is _anything_ that my wolf and I want more than to claim you, it is to make sure you are safe."

Stiles had a few arguments for this but his entire body was concentrating on trying to be very turned on while remaining very still and silent and he couldn't think. Stiles knew that Derek could smell how turned on he was, but he also knew that it wouldn't matter. Stiles had gleaned a few things from his minimal encounters with Derek and one of them was that if Derek had decided he was or was not going to do something that was the end of it.

So Stiles took a second to feel really sorry for himself, and for Derek for that matter, and then he took a stuttering breath and said, "I get it."

Derek peeled himself off of Stiles back and took a step back. Stiles stood up, straightened his lab coat and turned around.

He smiled at Derek and said with forced calm, "I will see you next week."

Derek winced, "I've upset you."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "yes, you have. But I'm 29, not 18, and there are more important things in this world than hurt feelings, things like curing cancer. What I got from your little…" Stiles waved a hand at the desk behind him, "whatever the fuck that was, is that you seem to have accidentally started to like me…"

Stiles managed a real smile, "I get it, hey, I'm charming. But, well, you're a dangerous wolf with commitment issues and people who like to shoot you with arrows. I am not arrow proof. This all makes logical sense. I'm a scientist, I can appreciate that. So, I will endeavor to stop finding you attractive and you'll continue to control your wolf, and I will see you next week."

Derek still looked uncertain, but he nodded and left. Stiles waited until Derek exited the lab, then he counted to twenty for good measure, before slumping to the ground in front of his desk and heaving a big sigh of relief. His life really sucked.

Stiles had gone home and jerked off to the memory of the hard line of Derek's body covering his and the remembered way that his hot breath had felt ghosting over Stiles' neck. He then shoved the entire episode to the back of his mind and moved on.

The next afternoon when Lydia had stopped back in to ask him to explain Derek, Stiles had replied that he had absolutely no explanation for Derek, which was the fucking truth, and refused to say a word more on the subject.

Over the next week Stiles also ignored the guy smoking on the bench every night around the same time that Stiles came out of the hospital to walk home from work. Well, he noticed it; he just couldn't be bothered to think about it, his brain too full of cancer cell diagrams and Derek.

It wasn't until the night before Derek's usual late night visit, his fourth, and no Stiles was not keeping track, that he actually took the time to surreptitiously check the guy out. He was older, grey hair, wiry frame, mouth set in a grim line. Stiles noticed that he never actually smoked the cigarette, just brought it to his mouth a few times before dropping it.

The guy made it a point to not look in Stiles direction though he followed Stiles at a respectable distance until the end of the parking lot, where the guy climbed into a black SUV and drove off. Stiles convinced himself he was being paranoid. He had imagined the guys repeated presence, and his interest in Stiles, and the possible flash of a hip holster Stiles glanced strapped to the guy's hip.

Derek's insistence that Stiles could be in danger was just affecting Stiles' already over-active imagination. Stiles continued his walk home and resolved that it wouldn't be a bad idea to start carrying some sort of weapon. When he had been younger his Dad had insisted he put pepper spray on his key chain, which he had never used and promptly lost.

The next night Derek showed up, even more sour-looking than usual, and didn't talk or look at Stiles beyond what was absolutely necessary. Stiles was so excited about some new experiment he had thought up that he wasn't even thinking about Derek's behavior or how hot, or weird, his last run-in with Derek had been. He also forgot to mention the guy that was maybe, but probably not, stalking him.

Stiles left the lab soon after Derek to head home. It was late and he wanted to get some sleep and start early tomorrow with his new idea. He had enough of Derek's blood on ice now that he felt he could be a little frivolous with a few samples. The experiment required larger amounts of test blood in order to achieve definite results.

Stiles was so occupied by his plans for the next day that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching him from behind until the last second. Stiles remembered the guy from the parking lot and realized he was still half a mile from his apartment, too far to try and outrun someone.

He gasped as he felt a rough, strong grip wrap around his middle and a hand cover his mouth. He managed to shove his hand into the pocket of his jacket and find the syringe he had stashed there that morning. The guy, hunter, whoever he was, was dragging Stiles to a car across the road. There was no one around; it was up to Stiles to make sure he didn't become a fucking statistic.

Stiles let the plastic cap fall to the ground as he gripped the syringe like a knife, even as he struggled against the hold the guy had on him. He jerked his body in a twisting move and slammed his hand back, sinking the needle into the guy's thigh and pressing the plunger. He was rewarded for his efforts when the guy shouted and jumped away from Stiles, letting him go completely. He looked down at the syringe sticking out of his leg and managed to look both angry and confused before he lost consciousness and crumpled to the ground.

Stiles jumped when he heard tires squealing on the pavement and he was only a little surprised when a black Camaro came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street and Derek jumped out. Thank god it was late at night and the street was deserted, Stiles thought.

Derek looked from Stiles to the guy on the ground and seemed to be at a loss for words.

Stiles wasn't though, he never was, "how did you find me?"

"I was driving home and I sensed that you were in danger."

Stiles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, "can you hear a kidnapping from five miles away, or are you just in tune to some internal distress signal I have?"

Derek looked like he would rather eat battery acid than answer the question, so he changed the topic, "what did you do to him?"

Stiles smiled, "this guy's been watching me for about a week now, I think," Stiles walked over and plucked the syringe out of the guy's leg, "so, I whipped up a special little cocktail of tranquilizers and liquid aconite."

Stiles kicked at the guy with his leg, "I figured he could be a human hunter or another werewolf. Either way, he was going down. He'll be out for hours."

Stiles could never be sure, but he thought Derek looked impressed.

He motioned to the guy on the ground and said, "I'm going to take care of him. You go home and try not to get into any more trouble."

Stiles yelled in a barely contained whisper, "What? You act like I went looking for this guy. He found me."

Stiles watched as Derek's eyes flashed red and he growled low and irritated, "and I warned you that might happen."

Stiles held up the syringe, "a possibility that I'm obviously prepared for and willing to take to…"

Stiles almost said, be friends with you but he was pretty sure Derek wasn't really in the mood to hear it, so he said, "… maybe find a way to cure cancer."

Derek did not look mollified as he dumped the guy into the trunk of his car like he weighted about as much as a feather pillow.

Stiles frowned, "you're not going to kill him are you?"

Derek gave him a blank stare, "do you seriously think he was taking you somewhere so he could give you a firm talking to? Or that he was trying to tickle me with that arrow?"

Stiles signed, "I know, I know. I just, I'm a doctor!"

Derek growled again, "which is why I am telling you to go the fuck home. I will check on you when I've dealt with the hunter."

Stiles wanted to insist that he didn't need checking on, thanks, but what came out was, "how do you know where I live?"

Derek got into the car and rolled down the window to fix Stiles with what could only be Derek's version of _bitch please_, before he sped away down the road.

Stiles gave his most put-upon sigh to the night sky and turned in the direction of his apartment. Some days ridding the world of cancer seemed a near impossible task, and, now, fucking werewolves.

Stiles always allowed his natural instincts of exaggeration and paranoia to get the best of him in any situation. If Derek said he would be checking in on Stiles later then Stiles was going to make sure that he was wearing actual sleep pants, not boxers. He was going to make sure he had on a plain cotton shirt, not his favorite Ninja Turtle's t-shirt. He was going to make damn sure that he was showered, teeth brushed, and in the bed acting like he was actually trying to sleep.

He wanted to be prepared for all opportunities presenting themselves and not look like he gave one fuck about Derek and his possible imminent presence in Stiles' apartment. He wasn't even sure if Derek would knock on the door, break in, or maybe crawl through a window like a complete creeper.

Stiles had only been lying in bed for an hour when he heard tapping on glass. He looked towards his fire escape window to see a dark outline and luminescent eyes. If he hadn't been expecting Derek then he would have been thoroughly freaked. As it was Stiles grumbled as he climbed out of bed to unlock the window and shove it up.

Derek stepped down into Stiles bedroom with a grace that made Stiles hate him. He stood up to loom over Stiles and really Stiles wasn't in the mood to be yelled at and accosted. But, what he wanted rarely factored into things when it came to Derek. It had only been four weeks and Stiles was already aware that it was just the nature of their relationship. Or, their un-relationship. Was that even a word? Well, it was now, Stiles was making it a word.

"What were you thinking? Taking that guy on by yourself! You should have told me about it."

Stiles couldn't help but want to yell back. He knew he should be the one to remain calm. After all, Derek could be, was, a killing machine that Stiles didn't want to get on the wrong side of. But, it was like all those times he and his Dad butted heads, Stiles had to fight back.

He looked incredulously at Derek, "What? Are you serious? Derek, you've made it pretty clear how you feel about protecting me or taking care of me. As far as I can tell the minute this agreement is over I'll never see you again. I might as well get used to taking care of myself. Which, I might add, I did fairly fucking well before you came along and tonight when you weren't there!"

Derek was practically panting as he advanced towards Stiles with red tinged eyes. Stiles backed up towards the opposite wall. Derek still looked human, but that didn't mean anything as far as Stiles' safety was concerned.

Derek pointed a finger at Stiles, "you should have just left me in the ally way. I would have been fine without you coming to the rescue and getting yourself mixed up in all of this."

Stiles laughed bitterly, "I didn't know you were a werewolf?! I wasn't about to leave some human bleeding to death in an ally way! What kind of person does that?"

Derek looked absolutely irritated, "until that hunter got on my trail and you showed up I had a perfectly workable thing going in this town. Now, I just have to make sure that he didn't tell any of his friends about my pack before he…"

Stiles clutched at his chest, "before you killed him."

Derek shrugged, "he would have cut me in half with a sword given the opportunity."

Stiles was so exhausted and a little overwhelmed, "a, what? A sword? Are you for real?"

Stiles held up a hand, "actually, don't answer that."

Stiles sighed, losing steam, "look, I just want to do cancer research and you just want to be rid of me, so, why don't we cut this contract short and call this the end of whatever sort of deal we had going. If I'm in danger moving forward, maybe you'll be kind enough to warn me. Other than that, you don't owe me anything anymore."

Derek growled low in his throat, "I don't think I can just leave you alone."

Stiles make a what the fuck face, "you don't know if… what the hell Derek?! I can't keep walking on egg shells around you wondering when I'm going to get slammed into furniture for smelling like I want you. You obviously don't want me as a liability to this normal werewolf-apple pie-life you seem to think you have. So, what's the problem?"

Derek looked defeated for a minute, human almost to Stiles' gaze, "the problem was never what I wanted. It was what was best for you. But, despite tonight and my best judgment, none of that seems to matter anymore."

Stiles waved a hand in the air, "because?"

Derek snarled, "because."

With that he crushed himself into Stiles, pressing them into the wall with a thumping noise, while burrowing his nose into the hollow of Stiles' throat and inhaling.

Stiles exposed his throat more, his head thudding back into the wall and a soft moan escaped his mouth. Derek made a purring noise that seemed to vibrate out from his chest as he pressed their bodies together, trying to get as close to Stiles as he could.

Stiles felt teeth nip at his collarbone and he felt his breath hitch in his throat, because this was actually happening. Oh, God, Stiles thought, just don't stop, please don't stop.

Derek groaned against him and Stiles realized too late that he may have said parts of that thought out loud. He was too turned on to be embarrassed. He could only become infinitely more aroused and infinitely less eloquent when Derek gripped his ass to lift him until he was more firmly pinned up against the wall with his legs wrapped around Derek's waist.

Stiles moaned Derek's name as their hips came into alignment. Stiles felt like he had the upper hand in this position, Derek had to tilt his face up to him to look him in the eyes. He got a firm grip on Derek's dark hair and smashed their lips together. It was tongue and heat and teeth clacking together, imperfect and perfect.

Stiles had eventually managed to master kissing in college and in the years in medical school when a rough day in the ER meant going out to a club and drinking till he forgot about all the children and all the parents fighting a losing battle. He'd always end up making out with someone, a guy or a girl, whose name he wouldn't remember and whose number he'd loose.

This moment was different though, Stiles felt something when he kissed Derek. While they fought for dominance in the kiss, slowed it down, speed it back up, Stiles felt like he could kiss Derek forever; not because he wanted the kiss to last forever, because he wanted Derek to stay that long too.

It was a terrifying realization. Stiles shoved it to the back of his mind and convinced himself to live in the moment. He could feel Derek hard against him as they moved together and Stiles so badly wanted to not come in his pants like a 16 year old. He wanted this to last. He wanted so many things from Derek, wanted to do so many things to Derek. He might only have tonight.

Stiles broke off the kiss finally, his lips practically numb, and moved his mouth to flick his tongue against Derek's earlobe before whispering, "put me down for a minute."

For a second Derek didn't move and then he slowly lowered Stiles to the ground. Stiles grabbed Derek and spun them around, to shove Derek against the wall. He was well aware that he wouldn't have been so good at manhandling the werewolf if Derek hadn't wanted to be and that sent a thrilling sensation straight down Stiles' spine.

He slipped to his knees, falling easily into a comfortable position and sliding his hands up Derek's thighs to unbutton his jeans. Derek looked down at him, his eyes molten and his breath sounded only slightly labored.

His hands shook like he wanted to grab onto Stiles but wasn't sure if his should, "Stiles, you don't have to…"

Stiles leaned in so that his hot breath would puff out over Derek's cock, "shut up Derek, let me take care of you."

Stiles wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say. Evidence so far suggested that Derek wasn't the kind of person who let people care for him. But, Stiles had taken a chance that maybe Derek needed to hear that there was at least someone who would anyway. But at Stiles' words Derek's body sagged against the wall and his legs spread a little more.

Derek nodded, his eyes rolling back into his head when Stiles smiled and licked a long path up his inseam. It tasted like denim, but it wouldn't for long. With Derek's help Stiles peeled the jeans down and soon realized that Derek wasn't wearing any underwear. Stiles was suddenly really glad he hadn't known that before. Derek being commando under his jeans was doing things to Stiles.

He leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along the crease where Derek's thigh met his abdomen, sniffing lightly. Derek smelled like warm earth, like the woods Stiles used to live near when he was a child. He mentally shook himself out of the hypnotic effect Derek's smell seemed to have on him and licked an experimental path up the underside of Derek's cock.

He was well endowed and it had been a while for Stiles, he was in a full-time committed relationship with his lab these days and that didn't leave him a lot of time for keeping up his sexual prowess. Derek's long groan gave Stiles the impression he didn't care, so Stiles decided he didn't either. He licked some more, getting used to the idea again and trying to remember what had made him so good at this in college, when he'd really hit his I'm into boys stride.

Finally, after hearing the scratching sound that meant Derek was taking out his frustration on Stiles' drywall, he sucked the tip of Derek's cock into his mouth and slowly worked down. He licked and sucked and pulled back when he needed to and then went down again. He looked up once and Derek was looking down, his eyes ringed with a red glow and his breath panting out in stuttered breaths.

Stiles felt a hot, overwhelming sensation somewhere from deep in his stomach, bloom into his chest. He had done that to Derek, that desperate look, his wolf blending into his human form as he fought for control. It made Stiles hot all over. It also made him not want to examine too closely any of his psycho-sexual responses. Stiles startled when Derek pushed at his shoulders to get Stiles mouth off him.

Stiles could swallow, but Derek seemed to want something else. Stiles pulled back willingly, taking his shirt off because he had a feeling that he knew exactly what Derek wanted. Stiles had barely tossed his shirt to the side before he felt Derek's hot come splatter all over his chest. Stiles knew enough about all kinds of sex to know when he was being marked. Derek might have well painted a sign on Stiles that said taken.

Stiles stood up, retrieving his shirt to wipe at his chest before tossing it into a corner of the room. He watched as Derek removed his clothing and Stiles had to fight to get his own pants and boxers off because he was mesmerized by the perfect body Derek was quickly revealing. Stiles had seen it, but the context was different and he could really stare now.

Derek grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed face down. Stiles went easily enough, his cock still heavy between his legs. He attempted to crawl forward, further up the bed to a pillow and more reachable access to the lube. He heard a snarl and felt a firm grip on his ankle before he was sliding back down the bed. He made a startled yelping sound and another one as his legs were opened.

He felt Derek's weight sink into the bed, his hands caressing over Stiles' ass, his hips, the backs of his thighs, before stopping to spread his ass cheeks. Stiles moaned when he felt Derek's tongue swipe over his hole. He had only had a few people do this to him and they had both been boyfriends and people he had known a while and been really comfortable with.

Stiles made a choked sobbing noise and reached up to squeeze a pillow with his fists so he wouldn't claw the bedspread. Derek made a pleased humming noise and continued to flick his tongue over Stiles opening. Stiles felt like his skin was on fire and his lungs were too small. He had never felt more turned on and more vulnerable in his life. It was Derek. Derek did this to him. Made Stiles' feel too small and out of control while feeling giddy and powerful. It was confusing the ways in which he trusted Derek beyond reason, beyond logic, beyond fear.

Derek was licking into him now and Stiles couldn't help the soft way that Derek's name fell from his lips. He was riding the razor edge when Derek pushed a finger into him, slick with lube he must have grabbed without Stiles noticing, fucking werewolves. He could feel that tidal wave building as Derek added another finger. He managed to hit Stiles' prostate just as he sunk his teeth lightly into Stiles' ass and Stiles felt himself shatter, his orgasm rushing through him like a freight train.

Derek pressed small kisses to Stiles' lower back while his hips twitched through the aftershocks. It took Stiles a few seconds to realize that Derek's fingers were still inside him, still moving, and he moaned. His body was pliant, sated for the time being, but he could feel Derek moving over him.

Stiles sighed when he felt Derek's cock bump against his thigh as Derek moved up, his fingers still working Stiles open, "I'm going to need a moment to recover."

Derek's mouth pressed hotly against the back of Stiles' neck, his teeth scraping over the thin skin that covered the knobs of Stiles spine. Stiles arched his hips up and his ass back onto Derek's fingers and was rewarded with a pleasant spark along his nerve endings. Derek seemed to be fully involved in putting a large hickey where Stiles' neck met the back of his shoulder.

Derek's voice was a deep rumble, "you're perfect like this."

Stiles made a small, gasping noise as Derek's fingers pressed into his prostate again and his voice stuttered out, "perfect like what?"

Derek took a moment to answer, still patiently stretching Stiles, "the wolf likes the way you're submitting to me."

Derek said it almost hesitantly, as if he was unsure of what Stiles reaction would be to the comment.

Stiles sighed and hitched his hips up to meet the thrust of Derek's fingers, his body still setting a lazy pace for now, "oh, me too," was all he said.

Derek growled at that, his fingers thrusting in hard and his teeth sinking into the meat of Stiles' shoulder. Stiles shouted and moaned as his over-sensitized body jolted like a livewire.

Derek's voice was husky when he whispered into Stiles' ear, "I want to fuck you now."

Stiles was very ok with that, his cock trying to make a valiant effort of participation in round two, or was it three? He attempted to move onto his hands and knees, but he felt a firm, warm hand in the center of his lower back, urging him down.

Derek's voice was surprisingly gentle as his forced Stiles back down onto his stomach and slipped a pillow under his hips, "no, stay just like this for me."

Stiles shrugged mentally, he would have preferred to see Derek, but this position was easier. Stiles buried his face in a pillow momentarily as he waited for Derek to line up. He could smother his rather obscene yells into the fluffy material in this position at least.

As if reading his mind, Derek snatched the pillow away from Stiles' face and threw it off the bed. His hands stroked lightly down Stiles' sides and over his hips to his thighs.

"I want to be able to hear you when you scream my name."

Stiles gave a little whimper of anticipation when Derek added, "I want everyone in the apartments around yours' to know how much you belong to me, how good I'm going to make you feel."

Stiles' could only pant into the sheet, his head turned to the side and his fingers moving restlessly against the bed with how much he wanted Derek and all his dirty promises. For once it seemed that Derek had more to say on the matter than Stiles' did.

Stiles relaxed when he felt Derek's hand grip his hip and guide himself in. He worked himself into Stiles slowly, stopping every so often so Stiles' could work on relaxing again and catch his breath. It must have taken serious control and patience, Stiles realized. The very two things that Stiles wouldn't have credited Derek with, but the werewolf seemed to find new levels of carefulness in handling Stiles.

Finally Stiles felt Derek's hipbones press against the curve of his ass, Derek's upper body curling lightly up against Stiles' back for a minute before pulling away. Derek kept one hand on Stiles' hip, but the other he moved up to plant on the bed for leverage. He managed to intertwine his finger slightly with Stiles as they both adjusted to the position and the feeling of being together.

Stiles' shifted his hips, minutely moving specific muscles to test the places his body was tight against Derek, as he whispered, "fucking move."

Derek pulled out and pushed slowly back in, deliberately keeping his pace steady and rhythmic. Stiles was grateful at first, his body was still adjusting to the feeling of being filled that he hadn't experienced in too long. Soon though, his entire nervous system was back on high alert, each movement that Derek made, sending hot shivers all over Stiles' body. He lifted his hips up and back to try and urge Derek to go faster.

Stiles gave a choked cry when Derek got the message and started to move in earnest, giving hard and fast thrusts with his hips like he had finally allowed his control to snap. Stiles' knew that his hips and ass, and possibly thighs would all be bruised tomorrow but he didn't care because Derek was hitting just the right spot and Stiles seemed to have lost every single word in his extensive vocabulary that wasn't _Derek_ and _fuck_ and _yes_. Those words he could still say really well, and repetitively.

Stiles heard Derek groan his name, his voice sounding wrecked and Stiles felt hot all over at the sheer awe that he had done that to Derek. It was Stiles, specifically sex with Stiles, fucking Stiles that had made Derek's normally firm grip on his control slip until his was fucking Stiles stupid and practically panting Stiles' name out like he owned it.

Derek's rhythm faltered and he groaned, "Stiles, I'm so close."

That was it, Stiles was done, his hips stuttered, come splatter desecrating his sheets and the pillow under his hips. It felt like his heart was bursting and his skin was expanding and he couldn't keep his mouth shut, the wave of his orgasm sweeping out of his throat in melodic noises of pleasure he couldn't silence.

Stiles fingers ineffectually searched for purchase on his smooth sheets until he finally felt his body begin to relax, his consciousness returning from where it floated along the ceiling. He felt Derek grip both his hips, fingers pressing into the tender skin around Stiles pelvic bones. Derek snapped his hips forward; taking advantage once again of Stiles' relaxed and sated form to take his own pleasure.

Stiles' reveled in Derek's orgasm when it hit, he felt the hot rush of Derek's climax filling him up. Derek let out a howl that wasn't animal sounding, but also wasn't entirely human sounding. He continued to rock his hips through his release before he draped himself over Stiles' back, and took deep breaths.

Stiles took shallower breaths, still trying to regain full functioning lung capacity. He liked Derek's heavy weight draped across his back, it made him feel safe. Too soon, in Stiles' opinion, Derek pulled away, peeling himself off of Stiles and gently removing himself from Stiles' body. He got up off the bed and Stiles rolled onto his side, expecting Derek to do the zip and ditch move.

But, to his surprise, Derek returned to the bed with a washcloth to clean up Stiles and the bed sheets as best as possible. Stiles sighed as Derek threw the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom and curled up around Stiles. Stiles had a jumble of things in his head that he wanted to talk about, but he couldn't seem to make any of them a priority. His thoughts didn't make much sense right now and his brain was rapidly shutting down in favor of sleep.

Instead, Stiles spent the last moments of his consciousness trying to memorize the feeling of Derek's naked skin pressed up against his own. He was aware in a resigned, bittersweet way that he would wake-up to an empty bed. By morning Derek would have remembered all the reasons he wanted to stay away from Stiles and Stiles would, more likely than not, never see him again. In the meantime, Stiles vowed to remember forever what it felt like to fall asleep to Derek's warm, steady breath falling on the back of his neck.

Stiles woke up confused. He was very warm, hot almost, his skin dampened with the feverish feeling that come from a deep sleep under thick covers. His blankets felt heavier than he remembered. Stiles realized that his bed covers were also moving, shifting around and groaning into consciousness. Stiles blinked down at the sight of a very naked Derek splayed across Stiles equally naked body and tried to remember to breathe.

Stiles felt his pulse speed up, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. Derek was supposed to leave in the middle of the night. His continued presence just made it harder for Stiles. At least if he'd snuck out, Stiles' could have dealt with the disappointment without ever having to look Derek in the face.

Derek didn't look up from where he was running his nose up Stiles' ribcage like it was a xylophone. Stiles heard him chuckle, the bastard, before his sleepy deep voice cut into the silence of the room, "I can hear your heart trying to beat its way through your ribcage."

Stiles' sighed, "I wasn't expecting you to still be here."

Derek looked up at him, confused, "would you like me to leave?"

Stiles felt his body jerk in surprised motion, "No!"

Stiles settled and tried again, "I mean, you made it pretty clear that you felt we should part ways, and I didn't picture you as the _breakfast and small talk the morning after_ kinda guy."

Derek now looked more confused, but his body was as relaxed as ever against Stiles' side, "I'm… usually… not."

Stiles stared at the ceiling and prayed for patience. Werewolves were apparently deeply emotionally constipated. Stiles would just have to live with the uncertainty that was Derek for as long as it took to decide if he was actually dating a werewolf or not. Stiles smiled at the ceiling as he shifted his hips and felt the sore burn; he was definitely fucking one though.

Stiles carded his fingers absent-mindedly through Derek's thick, soft hair and laughed when the resounding rumble in Derek's chest made his skin vibrate against Stiles' skin. They lay in silence for a minute, enjoying the soft early morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Stiles was rapidly thinking through all the conversations they needed to have and prioritizing topics on a scale of _my emotional wellbeing depends on your answer_ to _I'm dying to know if_.

Stiles huffed out a breath, "if I make you pancakes this morning and I stop trying to take vials of your blood, will I get to see you again?"

Derek was silent, his thumb tracing light circles on Stiles' left hipbone. Stiles tried again, "keep in mind that simply staying away from me can't force me to unlearn everything I already know."

Stiles grew impatience at Derek's silence, "plus, wouldn't it be good to have a medical professional on your side. I mean, yeah, you guys heal, but having an insider at the hospital could be a good thing, right?"

Derek shifted his position a bit, looking up at Stiles with eyes that were his normal color, "Stiles, you don't need to come up with reasons why I should keep you around. I'm aware that you're in this whether I want you there or not. I can't really explain everything right now. I'm not really great at communicating…"

Stiles grinned, "I noticed."

Derek glared at him, "but my wolf knows, I know, that you need to stay in my life."

Stiles thought about this very vague declaration of continued interaction that Derek was offering.

He spoke hesitantly, "will we continue to have sex?"

Derek chuckled, "preferably."

Stiles nodded and swallowed, "will I get to meet your pack?"

Derek's fingers stilled from where they were touching Stiles with light strokes.

He simply said, "Soon."

Stiles nodded, "ok."

Derek looked up again, his gaze questioning, "Ok?"

Stiles smiled, "yeah, ok, to whatever this is. I just don't want to never see you again."

Derek sighed, "Do you even know what you're agreeing to?"

Stiles shrugged, "as long as you don't turn me against my will…"

Derek's eyes flashed red, his voice fierce, "I wouldn't do that."

Stiles nodded and held his hands up, "then we won't have any problems."

"Do you comprehend how permanent this could become?"

Stiles wondered when exactly he would start to freak out about this conversation. So far nothing was happening, but maybe he could have a proper panic attack over it later.

Stiles let his hand slip further down to massage the back of Derek's neck, "I have my entire future ahead of me to worry about permanence. Here's what I know. When I look into the future, my future, I only know one thing for sure. I will help find a cure for cancer."

Stiles tugged Derek's hair, urging him up the bed so Stiles could lay a chaste kiss on his mouth before pulling away, "and, maybe, you can be there to see it when it happens."

Derek growled, diving down to give Stiles' a proper kiss.

Derek licked into Stiles' mouth as if trying to memorize his taste. He moved away, blazing a trail down Stiles' throat, his chest, his abs, his hipbones, and Derek made that now familiar rumbling noise every time Stiles' breath hitched or a small moan escaped his mouth. Derek looked up through his lashes at Stiles, his perfect mouth hovering just above Stiles' navel.

Derek moved his head over and pressed his lips into the soft skin of Stiles' left side, below his ribcage, "this is where the bite is usually given. The skin is more vulnerable."

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting between Derek's eyes and his very human looking teeth, barely visible inside his slightly parted mouth. He could feel his stomach muscles tensing and quivering in anticipation.

Derek looked steadily at Stiles, "you're always so curious; I thought you'd want to know. That's why werewolves have a big thing about exposing their stomachs to each other. Wolves in the wild have the same type of practices about submission and dominance."

Stiles' snorted, "I'm lying on my back because I'm hoping you'll blow me, not because I'm submitting to you."

Derek snorted back, "fine line."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but released a surprised gust of air when Derek suddenly sunk his blunt teeth into the tender skin of Stiles side. He whimpered, "Derek."

Derek licked the bite mark sure to leave a bruise, "do you trust me?"

Stiles made sure his eyes held Derek's, "yes."

Derek nodded and continued his exploration of Stiles' body downward and while a very massive section of Stiles' brain focused on the conclusion of that exploration and the sensations involved, a few of his higher achieving neurons were busy wondering where he and Derek were headed. How had life landed him here? A cancer researcher. Dating a werewolf. Stiles' had often felt in the past few weeks like he was at the crossroads where science and the supernatural met.

Or maybe, instead of a crossroads, it was more appropriate to call it a precipice. Stiles had stood on the solid cliff of science and definability. Derek's exhilarating, and oft maddening, entrance into his life had drawn Stiles' attention to the vast and terrifying abyss that offered possibilities beyond the safety of the cliff.

Stiles' had known from the minute he glanced at Derek's blood sample under his microscope that his life was altering. There was no turning back, there was only forward. Stiles' thought of his research before Derek and werewolves and thought that maybe he had climbed the cliff as high as it would take him. Now, it was time to leap.

Stiles' felt the warm weight of Derek settling between his legs, the hot press of a tongue to his thigh. He saw the thrilling glint of deepest red flickering in Derek's eyes. Stiles gripped the sheets in his hands and tried to think about the molecular structure of cancer prevention proteins in order to keep his toes from curling.

He could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he knew Derek could hear it too. He felt his breath coming more rapidly, his blood rushing around his body, and he thought for a second- this is what falling feels like.

"_You won't find faith or hope down a telescope, you won't find heart or soul in the stars. You can break everything back to chemicals, but you can't explain a love like ours." ~The Script _


End file.
